I’m surrounded. I’m running from shadows, their screeching is unbearable, and I just can’t seem to get away they’re hot on my tail. Whats this smell? Bacon..? I hear a noisy kitchen.
The sofa was cramped and uncomfortable, many foreign smells swirled in the stale cabin air, but that was the best nights rest the young blue folk has had in years.
My eyes are crusty and my right cheek was swimming in drool. I took me a second to remember where I was. This is completely insane… why did I stay? I sat up. I’ll leave as soon as I can, just say thank you and quickly leave this place.
“Oi, mornin’ kid..” Vega seems very busy in the kitchen, he’s confidently standing in front of a modern gas stove. He gracefully tosses the colorful ingredients in a small skillet as he fries pork belly in another pan to the side. He then pours a yellow golden mixture into a double-sided heating device.
Vega burst out into laughter, “You like waffles, huh?”
I’ve never heard of this… waffle, but in a couple minutes out pops a crusty bread with pockets or some sort of breathing holes… incredible.
“You just don’t run out of drool, do ya kid?” Vega again bellows a hardy laughter. “Go wash up… this is my apology for last night.”
The young blue boy’s eyes light up at the sight of the feast in front of him.
Golden brown baked potatoes wedges with freshly shredded cheeze, the fluffiest scrambled eggs with chopped scallions and cubed tomatoes, fresh summer vegetable stir-fry, and the main courses, two mountains of Vega’s favorite. To the left, a heap of thinly sliced pork belly. To the right, a skyscraper of these… waffles.
I know exactly what I want first. I reach over and…
“Ah, ah, ah…” Vega blocks my hand with his palm.
What is it now? What could he want? I’m dyin’ here!
Vega swiftly rises from his chair opening the sleek oven door in just a few moves, he reaches in and pulls out an old potion bottle filled with a brown liquid.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot.. you can’t have waffles without maple syrup..”
“..W-what is it?” I ask, mystified by the fluid.
“AHA! I’m glad you asked… It’s called maple syrup! It comes from trees…” Vega tosses a handful of waffles on to his plate. He then liberally, I mean he drowns the poor waffles, clogging every single pore? Give them some air goddamnit! “Here, try it out” the old man has a childlike glee in his eye as he plops onto his chair and shovels whole waffles in his mouth hole. While he’s… preoccupied, I lightly drizzle the golden liquid over the waffles… Or is it more of a solid?
The boys enjoyed a rowdy breakfast, eating every last bit. The blue boy happily did the dishes. He thought of what might come next. What path might he take? How to escape.
“…What does it mean to be a Drifter?” Vega, who’s staring at nothing in particular, asks no one this very question. “People may often think of us as… homeless, loose vagrants robbing gearbits from the poor… the masses may think what they want or believe what they want..” Vega turns his head and stares into my eyes, “I’m ok with this because Drifters are always two steps ahead, this is why they get what they seek… Don’t you see, boy?!”
He stands up with light speed violently kicking his table chair backward, “BLUEBOY!!” the cabin rumbles with such tremendous force, he dashes next to me, I have exactly no time to react.
He speaks normally into my ear, his hand rests on my shoulder, “Are you going to keep running? Sneaking around? It’s time to stand up. I’ll show you how. Okay?”